


Interspecies Romance: the Remedial Course

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [21]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Courtroom Drama, Drama, Drug trafficking, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Infidelity, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Medical Examination, Minor Violence, incarceration, relationship difficulties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: As events unfold around him, from the Klingon war to the ground breaking discovery of a downed Jem'Hadar ship, Julian feels frustrated to find himself on the sidelines. His progress with Garak stymied, he begins to question the entire relationship and what the future holds for him. Meanwhile, Garak endures his incarceration to the best of his ability and finds some of his own relationships challenged by his actions in the Gamma Quadrant.





	Interspecies Romance: the Remedial Course

**Part I**  
_Julian  
Quark's Bar_  
   
Sighing and swirling his black hole, Julian watched Morn putting the moves on a Boslic female. It seemed as though he couldn't catch a break lately. Garak still refused to have anything to do with him beyond answering questions for his mandatory health checks. Now Miles, Odo, Worf, and the captain were off on a mission to expose Gowron as a changeling infiltrator and hopefully put an end to the war with the Klingons before it could escalate. Of course he had an important part to play. No one else on the station was qualified to perform the cosmetic surgery needed to disguise his comrades as Klingons. He didn't like being left behind. It felt like missing out, and he desperately needed distraction.  
   
Dax settled onto a stool beside him, dressed in a tightly fitting brown exercise suit. “How much have you had to drink?” she asked.  
   
“Not enough,” he said, lifting his glass.  
   
She stopped him with a hand to his wrist. “Good,” she said. “That means you can spar with me.”  
   
He frowned. “Jadzia, I don't want to spar. I don't like Klingon weapons. I don't really like Klingons, if you want to know the truth of it. Black holes are expensive, and do you know why? Because they do the job quicker than most liquor.”  
   
“Have Quark put it behind the bar for you,” she said, standing and trying to tug him to his feet. “You can come back to it afterward.”  
   
He resisted, setting his jaw. “Did you not hear a word I said?” he asked testily. “I'm not interested in your Klingon martial arts routine, and I'm damned sick and tired of everyone assuming I'll just go along with whatever they want because I don't usually make a fuss.”  
   
She loosened her grip without releasing him. “Then we can do something else,” she said. “It's obvious you need it as much as I do. Please?”  
   
“Fine,” he said, passing the glass over to Quark. “I'm not done with that, so don't dump it.”  
   
“Whatever you say,” Quark said, shrugging and setting it out of the way and out of reach of other customers. He picked up a small box and opened it, glancing at Dax. “Your usual?” he asked.  
   
She shook her head. “No.” She beckoned him closer, leaned over the bar and whispered to him. Julian watched suspiciously, in no mood for her mischief.  
   
Quark glanced at the doctor, shrugged again, and pulled out one of the colored rods. “Have fun,” he said doubtfully.  
   
Tucking her arm in Julian's and leading him along with her, she said over her shoulder, “We will!”  
   
He walked at her side until they reached the spiral stairs and allowed her to ascend ahead of him. When they reached the balcony, they walked the short distance to holosuite two, and Dax inserted the rod into the program slot. The door hissed open. Fresh, clean smelling air wafted out, and simulated sunlight slanted across Dax's dark brown hair, bringing out rich honey highlights. Julian followed her inside and found himself staring at the distant walls of an idyllic castle. A meadow of wildflowers spread before them, bluebells, white mallow, purple knapweed, oxeye daisies, and more that he couldn't readily put a name to. “Computer,” Dax said, “cancel program story parameters. Remove characters. Now...two...” she paused, eying Julian with a squint, “English broadswords, circa 1100.”  
   
“This is your Camelot program,” he said.  
   
“Usually,” she confirmed. “Tonight, it's just a nice setting for a good workout.” She seized her sword, hefting it and testing the weight. “I suggest you arm yourself, or you're not going to enjoy this much.”  
   
He grasped the hilt of the sword and gave a few experimental swings. It was well balanced, and he liked the weight of it in his hand. As he and Dax began to circle one another, the bruised scent of flowers and grass rose sharp in his nose. He felt the vegetation snagging his feet and lower pants legs. He'd have to be careful not to get tripped up. She advanced on him suddenly, her swing fluid and minimally telegraphed.  
   
He quickly danced to the side and deflected, letting her blade slide down his with a scrape of steel on steel. Following through, he drove her back and swung high, forcing her to block. All of the practice he had with Miles in their ancient Ireland program served him well, because he could tell she wasn't giving him any quarter. They both backed off and regrouped, back to the circling and feeling one another out.  
   
She attacked again, her strategy an aggressive one. It sparked something in him, touching the part of him tired of taking beating after beating, being blocked, stymied, and frustrated. His blood rose, and he went on the offensive. Each clang of the heavy swords sent a jolt from his wrist to his shoulder. Dax's blue eyes widened in surprise as she quickly found herself hard pressed to fend off his relentless blows. He didn't see how it happened, only that she suddenly went down backward, landing spread eagle in the turf, her sword flying from her hand. He touched his sword tip to her throat. “Do you yield?” he asked.  
   
“Yes,” she said, exasperated. “My heel caught in some ivy.”  
   
He drew the sword aside and offered her a hand up. “Again?” he asked.  
   
“Of course,” she said, striding over to pick up her weapon. “You think I intend to let you win on a technicality?”  
   
“Ah,” he said, “but the good swordsman understands the terrain and adjusts for it.”  
   
“Listen to you,” she said with a laugh. “I think you've been spending too much time with Miles.”  
   
“You're just sore because I bested you,” he said, dropping into a fighting stance. “Less talk, more fight.”  
   
“Now you sound like Worf!” He could tell she wasn't complaining, her eyes shining with satisfaction. She was more cautious this time, using her head instead of just agility and brute force.  
   
He felt himself beginning to sweat under the high, bright sun and wished that he had insisted on changing out of his uniform first. Their swords flashed and clanged. They closed and tangled, distanced themselves, and did it again, an elaborate dance that could've turned deadly if they didn't watch themselves. It felt good to push his boundaries of what he usually allowed himself physically. She was just enough of a challenge for him not to feel as though he was simply going through the motions now that she was using her head. He saw an opening in her guard and took it, only to have his hand wrenched by a violent twist of his sword. She almost managed to disarm him.  
   
He knocked her back with a shoulder check and swept with the flat of his blade, knowing she wouldn't be able to evade in time. She went down on her back a second time, this time holding on to her sword, rolling, and swinging. She struck him a stinging blow to his lower back, also using the flat of her blade. Panting, she said, “OK, now I'm legless, and you're paralyzed. Ready for a rest?”  
   
“No,” he said, straightening.  
   
“I've created a monster,” she said admiringly, climbing to her feet.  
   
_The monster has been here a while,_  he realized as he prepared for another pass.  
   
_Garak  
Holding Cell_  
   
Although his arms and lower back were shaking and beginning to spasm, Garak held his rigid position, facing the floor and balanced on the ends of his toes and the tips of his fingers. His elbows were bent, his arms close to his sides, hands at chest level, and his stomach less than eight centimeters from the floor. He heard footsteps in the corridor outside his cell and ignored them, believing it to be one of the security guards checking in on him as they did several times per shift.  
   
“They're not making you do that, are they?” a soft, feminine voice queried.  
   
_Leeta._  She hadn't been to visit him since his return. He had imagined that she was angry with him after hearing what he had tried to do. He figured he was about to find out. “No,” he said, his voice strained with effort. He heard the force field deactivate long enough for her to join him in the Spartan space and reactivate once more.  
   
“It looks painful,” she said, circling him and taking a prim seat on his bunk.  
   
He refused to allow her to break his concentration. “Merely uncomfortable.” The tremors spread down the backs of his legs, his calves starting to knot. She said nothing more until he finished his count and relaxed downward, immediately pushing himself up to his feet so that he could sit at the other end of the bunk. “This is a pleasant surprise,” he said, slightly out of breath. “I don't usually get visitors this late.”  
   
“I've been debating whether to come at all,” she said. “I keep asking myself why you're here and not light years away on some prison planet. I finally decided I probably don't want to know the answer to that.”  
   
He stayed silent. He knew that nothing he could say would justify his actions in her eyes. She was Bajoran, after all. They had backwards perspectives at times.  
   
“I always told myself you were different. It was one of the ways I suppose I...justified...allowing myself to be close to you. I'm having a really hard time justifying that right now,” she said, brows knit.  
   
“I understand,” he said. If she was hoping he would attempt to justify himself, she was about to be disappointed.  
   
“Is genocide and mass destruction the only way your people know how to approach the world?” she asked, her voice tight.  
   
He sat up straighter. “Well, I suppose I could have offered to make her a dress instead. Maybe next time.”  
   
“Her?” she asked, tipping her head and ignoring his biting sarcasm.  
   
“The Founder who told me the Dominion is going to utterly destroy my people.”  
   
She dropped her gaze and shifted it to the side. “Oh,” she said. “That doesn't explain my people. What threat were we?”  
   
He had hoped that this was a conversation they'd never have. However, he had no intention of shying away from the subject. “You weren't,” he said, “not until incompetent hands bungled the occupation. You were resource rich, and we were resource poor. You're a smart woman, Leeta. Do the math.”  
   
“It never occurred to any of you to ask us for help?”  
   
He barked a harsh laugh.  
   
Her lips tightened. “That wasn't intended to be funny. Have you ever heard of the Oralian Way?”  
   
That caught him off guard. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly feeling very wary. “What of it?” he asked.  
   
She nodded to herself. “Of course you have. Fire, you were probably one of the ones who helped root them out in the end. If your people had just had faith in your priests the way we did in ours, Bajor and Cardassia might have formed a tremendously powerful alliance. We could have shown you the art of sustainable growth, intelligent stewardship of resources. We probably could have even taught you how to begin healing your own main planet. We had plenty, enough for both worlds, just not the way your people wanted to make use of things.”  
   
“Yes, and you were sitting off in your own little corner of the galaxy, drowning in your own isolation and a caste system that oppressed your best and brightest, preventing you from developing the technology that could have kept people like us at bay,” he retorted. “You were less than a six hour journey at full impulse from your very own Celestial Temple and never even knew it.”  
   
He could see her chest rise with a deep breath, a visible effort to calm herself. “I'm not even going to try to argue against that,” she said. “You're right. There was a lot we could have learned from you, and we would've learned it willingly had you given us the chance.”  
   
“What's the point of this?” he asked, losing patience. “You want to take me to task for the occupation, lay some blame at my feet? If that's what you need to do, then do it. If you need to cast me in the role of villain because of what I did in the Gamma Quadrant, do it. The fact is I'd destroy this entire station and everyone on it, myself included, if it meant keeping the Dominion at bay. Whether that's a product of being Cardassian or my specific training I couldn't begin to say. I'm not a philosopher.”  
   
“The problem is I don't know what you are,” she said. “I guess I should've tried harder to find that out before you became my friend, because now I can't even begin to be objective when it comes to you.” She leaned and took his hand, giving it a rueful squeeze, and he knew that against all reason, the crisis between them had passed. She wasn't discarding him. She was venting and clearing the air.  
   
“There are things I regret,” he said. “Not about what I did in the Gamma Quadrant, but...the occupation.”  
   
“I don't want to hear them,” she said quickly. “I'm only just now finding I can stand to be in the same room with you and not want to give you the beating of your life.” She stroked an idle thumb over the back of his hand. “What's this I hear about you refusing to see Julian? You just said you have no regrets, so it can't be guilt.”  
   
“Things worked better between us with you in the picture than out of it,” he said.  
   
She released his hand and covered her incredulous laugh. “Wow, you just acknowledged I'm smart and then tried to feed me that line? You're going to give me whiplash if you keep this up.”  
   
“Then you figure it out,” he said, dipping his head slightly and giving a half smile.  
   
“OK. I know he wants to see you, and I know he has been hurt that you've refused him. We haven't talked about it, of course. We don't need to. I know his moods. He has been drinking more than he should. It doesn't make sense. What would it hurt for you to let him visit?” she asked.  
   
“That's a very good question,” he said, watching her face closely.  
   
Her gaze softened with realization. “And that's why I can't hate you. You have to go and do something so amazingly selfless and sweet. Maybe he won't be in Starfleet forever, or maybe one day Cardassia will join the Federation.” She said the latter with a wicked twinkle in her dark eyes.  
   
“You started that on such a promising note,” he said dryly, amused, “and then you had to ruin it.”  
   
“All right,” she said more briskly. “I want a hug, and then I have to go.”  
   
“Do you have a date?” he asked archly, standing with her and moving to give her a light embrace.  
   
“I do not,” she said primly, kissing his cheek and pulling back. “And you will not say things like that again until after Julian and I have had the chance to have our breaking up ceremony.”  
   
“Neither of you is getting any younger,” he said.  
   
She swatted him. “You're horrible. One more thing. Now that you're standing long enough for me to get a good look at you, I can see you don't need to lose any more weight. Are they feeding you properly?”  
   
He didn't want to tell her he hadn't had much of an appetite. His captivity may have been positively cushy by Cardassian standards, but it was still captivity, a condition his people didn't endure well. “If you must know, Aroya has been bringing me food, as has Ziyal. If I were to indulge them to their hearts' content, I would gain back every kilogram plus interest.”  
   
“I will be checking your story,” she said, shaking a finger at him. She pressed the button to summon the guard. “I'll be back to see you soon,” she added when the officer came into view. “Somebody has to fill you in on all the gossip. I hear the best of it in the bar.”  
   
“Thank you, Leeta,” he said sincerely. He had missed her and regretted the thought that perhaps their friendship had ended. It was good to know he had been wrong. After she left, he resumed his exercises, lying on his side on the floor and balancing himself on one hand, both arms straight and spread wide, his core muscles tight and body in a straight line from head to feet. His fight with Worf illustrated all too well the dangers of going soft. Never again would he allow his physical conditioning to take a lower priority than was warranted.  
   
_Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
He had just finished vaccinating the last of three Bajoran children brought to him by their mother when he heard a commotion in the waiting area. “Excuse me for a moment, won't you?” he asked the woman, giving her small daughter seated on the exam table an absent pat on the shoulder.  
   
“What's going on?” he asked, finding Odo and a Bajoran security officer in the front, both of them wearing grim business faces, trying to push past one of the day nurses.  
   
“You're under arrest,” the security chief said, “for the trafficking of Regalian fleaspiders without a permit and conspiring to smuggle Regalian liquid crystals, a controlled substance.”  
   
“What?” Julian demanded, outraged. He shrugged out of the officer's grasp only to be grabbed harder and glared at. The two ushered him quickly out onto the Promenade where Quark was being held by a third man. “You!” the doctor said, lunging for the Ferengi without thinking.  
   
Odo shoved his way between them and grabbed Julian by both arms. “None of that, Doctor,” he growled, “or I'll have to put an assault charge on top of everything else.”  
   
“I want to see Major Kira,” he said through gritted teeth, glaring daggers past Odo at Quark.  
   
“Fine,” Odo said, turning to grasp Quark's upper arm. “I'll take you both. I'll strongly advise you not to give me any trouble on the way. I may not be a changeling anymore. That doesn't mean I can't stun you with a phaser.”  
   
This was beyond the pale. Odo knew damned well he wasn't a smuggler and didn't traffic in drugs. He clenched his fists so tightly the nails bit his palms. It didn't help that Quark was running his mouth non-stop just on the other side of their escort. “I have no idea what the doctor wants with fleaspiders. I told him it was a bad idea.”  
   
“You told me it wouldn't be a problem,” he said, trying to catch sight of him around the constable.  
   
Odo swung them around with him in the turbolift to face outward and gave a tighter squeeze to Julian's upper arm as though to emphasize that he should behave.  
   
“If they get loose, we'll have an infestation,” Quark continued. “I'm all for importing live insects for food. Ferengi insects only breed under very specific conditions, conditions we don't have on the station. You'd never have to worry about say...a tube beetle infestation. But fleaspiders! Now that you're hew-mon, they should worry you, Odo. They can give you the worst sort of rash, particularly if you're allergic.”  
   
“And the liquid crystals?” Odo asked.  
   
“What do you have against love?”  
   
“Hmph,” Odo replied, rolling his eyes. As they stepped from the lift into Ops, Julian found himself grateful that both Miles and Dax were gone on a mission. He didn't think he'd ever live down what was happening had they been there to witness it.  
   
They entered Captain Sisko's office only to find it empty. Quark immediately began insisting that if Odo truly intended to prosecute him, he should prosecute Doctor Bashir, too. The argument became heated by the time Kira walked in on all of them. He thought he'd be off the hook once he explained the situation to her and that the spiders were for her benefit. Instead, she announced she was leaving on the Defiant to help Captain Sisko with the recovery of a downed Jem'Hadar ship, and he would be staying behind to sort out his own mess. He wanted to slap the smug grin right off of Quark's ugly face.  
   
Odo hauled them back through Ops. “You're actually arresting me?” Julian asked, incredulous.  
   
“Doctor, I have no choice,” Odo said. “I'm sure the magistrate will get the details straightened out. I can hardly give you preferential treatment just because your a Starfleet officer. You ought to know by now to check to see if you need a permit for transporting live cargo. As for you,” he said to Quark, “I'm going to do everything I can to see you get the maximum fine.”  
   
“For Regalian liquid crystals? You can't be serious! They're not that dangerous!”  
   
“No, but you're taking our station doctor out of commission during a time of heightened alert with this foolishness and could have damaged his career and reputation if he were any less upstanding than he is,” he said tersely.  
   
Julian stayed stubbornly silent for the rest of the lift ride and the walk back to the security office. He cooperated with processing and didn't struggle when Odo took him back to the holding area. He caught nothing more than a glimpse of Garak seated on his bunk and reading a PADD, blue eyes lifting quizzically when he passed. Fortunately, Quark was put in a cell on the other side of Garak's. He couldn't see him at all. Too bad the cells weren't sound proof.  
   
“You can thank me now,” Quark called out.  
   
“You had better not be talking to me,” Julian snapped.  
   
“Who else would I be talking to?” he asked. “Garak? He's the one who has been trying to avoid you. I got you in. Now you can talk.”  
   
“Come off it! You didn't do this for me, and Odo was right. You could've gotten me into some very serious trouble. Furthermore, Major Kira is now headed into the Gamma Quadrant on a dangerous salvage mission without a doctor. I'm going to put any deaths firmly at your feet.” He paced the tight confines, too furious to sit.  
   
“Wow,” Quark said. “He's really mad.”  
   
“Don't drag me into this,” Garak said.  
   
“It's just you know him better than I do,” the Ferengi continued. “Should I be worried?”  
   
“If someone dies due to the station's Chief Medical Officer being incarcerated because of something you did?” Garak asked. “I'd be worried in your shoes.”  
   
“How is that fair?” Quark's voice rose. “You're the one who tried to kill everybody, and they've barely slapped you on the wrists! Do you have any idea what they'd do to me if I had done what you did?”  
   
“Oh, please!” Garak retorted. “With everything you've gotten away with since I've been on this station...”  
   
“Both of you shut up!” Julian bellowed. “I don't care who has gotten away with what or how either one of you feels about each other and your respective...illegal activities. If I have to sit here and wait for my case to go before the magistrate, by damn I'm going to have some peace and quiet doing it.”  
   
“No wonder Garak has been avoiding you,” Quark muttered. “Touch-y.”  
   
Silence descended among them, and Julian took a seat on the thinly padded bunk, folding his arms tightly. The worst part about it was that he did want to say a few choice things to Garak, something he would never do in front of Quark. The longer he had been kept away, the angrier and more resentful he had grown. He didn't care what excuse Garak thought he had. There was no way it was good enough.  
   
A couple of hours passed. He could hear Quark fidgeting and pacing in his cell. He heard nothing from Garak, not surprising considering how very quiet he could be when he wished. In addition to anger at the entire situation and Garak, he felt some of the resentment spilling to Major Kira. She seemed to have no idea about or appreciation of how very difficult it was to find substances that could treat her pregnancy symptoms without being dangerous for the human child she carried. Her spirit of cooperation had faded over time, with Miles reporting several heated arguments between the two of them.  
   
Odo came for Quark. “I'm going to question the two of you separately,” he said as he drew the bartender from his cell. He added to the doctor, “I couldn't get you an appointment with the magistrate today, unfortunately. The earliest he can take the case is 1400 tomorrow. I'll be back for you in a little while. Try to relax.”  
   
He said nothing until both of them were gone. “I've put up with a lot from you,” he said harshly. “But this? Shutting me out and using Odo to do your dirty work? I'm sure you think you have some perfectly good excuse. Well, go on, Garak. I'd love to hear it.”  
   
“You're a weakness I can't afford,” came the cold voice in answer. “Living on this station, it was easy to forget that. I had to be awakened by the type of threat to my home I used to face on a regular basis to remember it. I won't forget it again.”  
   
“You don't have to worry about that,” he said just as coldly. “I wouldn't give you another chance even if you wanted it. I've been talking to Jadzia a lot lately. She has given me a good perspective on all of this.” He waited for Garak to say more and hugged himself tighter when he didn't. So that was it, then? After years of their trying to find a way to bridge the many gaps between them and a brief period of getting it right the second time around, the Dominion came along and destroyed their last chance to be happy together? Would he have been so quick to give up on Dax without Garak there to distract him? Had he made two of the greatest mistakes of his life in rapid succession? Maybe there was still time to correct at least one of them.  
   
He spent another hour in silence before it was his turn for questioning. His session with Odo didn't last nearly as long. He felt only slightly comforted that the constable truly seemed to believe he was blameless in the matter and being held only on technicalities. He hoped that the magistrate would be as understanding.  
   
The night and part of the following day in the holding cell was pure misery. He didn't want that sort of proximity to Garak. It hurt too much. He felt stupid for ever turning his eye toward the Cardassian. Everyone, _everyone_ had warned him it was a bad idea. All he had seen was the charm and mystery, the experience, the challenge. What had he offered in return? Someone malleable, pliable, easily manipulated and dominated, because at his core, at his very heart, he had the unshaken belief that he was inherently unlovable without negotiating some measure of value. Dax was right. Garak had preyed on him, maybe not even intentionally. Maybe it was a case of two dysfunctions meshing in all the right ways for all the wrong reasons. He couldn't do it anymore, but if that was the supposedly healthy attitude, why did it hurt so damned bad?  
   
Before hauling him into court, Odo allowed him the courtesy of a trip to his quarters so that he could take a shower, make himself presentable, and don a clean, pressed uniform. Having never been before the magistrate, he didn't know what to expect. His stomach felt knotted, and he was beginning to regret the two scones with jam and clotted cream he had ordered for breakfast. It sat heavily despite being past lunch time.  
   
He stepped into the crowded courtroom with Quark, Odo between the two of them. Although it wasn't actually the case, he felt as though all eyes were on him from the people seated on the backless benches, friends and family members of various accused and likely just some gawkers who had nothing better to do. Bajor's flag draped a large part of the wall behind the somberly dressed magistrate, his hood covering his ears and neck, leaving only his stern face free.  
   
Julian squeezed onto a bench near the front, frowning to himself at the motley company he found himself a part of. Most of them were Bajorans, but there were also a few aliens in the group. He supposed that most of the offenses were so petty and minor as not to require incarceration before the case. The thought made him hang his head a little lower. He was too nervous to pay attention to any of the other cases, waiting tensely for his name to be called. After what seemed like ages, he heard, “Quark, and Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir, approach the magistrate.” Glancing once at Quark, he did so. He forced himself to keep his head up and meet the man's gaze, not defiantly, but honestly.  
   
“Constable, would you read the charges?” the judge requested.  
   
“Quark is charged with importation of live cargo without a permit, importation of a controlled substance with intent to sell, and obstruction of justice.”  
   
“I object!” Quark said. “Obstruction?”  
   
The magistrate banged his stone on its pad. “Quiet! One more outburst like that from you, and I'll hold you in contempt of this court. Continue, Constable.”  
   
“Doctor Bashir is charged with conspiracy to import live cargo without a permit.”  
   
Julian breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he wasn't being associated with the illegal substance. It wouldn't have mattered if he had been acquitted of the charges. Something like that could be a large smirch on his record.  
   
The magistrate looked through a file PADD for a few moments and addressed Julian first. “What do you have to say in your defense, Doctor?”  
   
He cleared his throat. “I was careless in not researching whether Regalian fleaspiders required a permit, and I was stupid ever to trust Quark to do anything for me properly, but my intentions were not criminal. I needed the spiders for their venom for legal medical treatment of circulatory problems. It had been so difficult to determine the proper treatment that I was too hasty in attempting to procure it. I can assure you I have learned my lesson.”  
   
“I've never seen you in my court before,” the judge said. “I trust I won't see you again?”  
   
“No Your Honor, not as a perpetrator, at least,” he said gravely.  
   
“I'm letting you off with a warning only this time, Doctor,” the man said, banging the rock down once more. “Please, take more care in the future.”  
   
“I will, Your Honor. Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly from the waist. He waited until he was dismissed to turn and head out. He didn't care what Quark's sentence would be. All he wanted was to get back to work and put the whole thing behind him. Besides, he still had the fleaspiders to deal with before they died.

**Part II**

_Garak  
Holding Cell_  
   
Time had a strange way of distending and blurring at the edges when one was confined. His captors had been kind enough to provide him with a chronometer, but at times he could almost swear that it randomly malfunctioned. He was even allowed to perform some minimal work when various officers needed mending for their uniforms, and they paid him in full for it. It was a strange captivity that wore on him, nonetheless. He could and frequently did exercise himself to utter exhaustion without quelling the restless instinct inside him that screamed at him to short out the force field, incapacitate the guards who brought him his food, run, and run, and run some more, and never look back. Doctor Bashir said that his blood pressure was elevated. His frequent migraines seemed to confirm the diagnosis. He stubbornly refused the pills. Their effects were bad enough to endure in private. He didn't want anyone hearing him crying out in his sleep, saying who knew what.  
   
He felt another coming on while listening to Ziyal, his most faithful visitor. She never missed a day. He didn't have the heart to tell her that sometimes he wished that she would. There was no one he enjoyed seeing on a daily basis, not even Julian when they were at their closest. “So then he took her springball racket and hid it somewhere. Can you believe it?” she asked, shaking her head.  
   
He lifted a hand to rub at his temple. “I'm surprised he hasn't chained her to her bed,” he said dryly. “It was foolish of her to go live with them. Both adult O'Briens have rather overbearing, controlling natures. Throw the major into the mix, and there are bound to be explosions.”  
   
“Your head again?” she asked, instantly picking up on the gesture.  
   
“It doesn't matter,” he said. “You were saying?”  
   
“It does so matter,” she countered, shaking her head. “Why won't you take the medicine Doctor Bashir has prescribed for you? That's what it's for. This is the third day in a row this week.”  
   
“Actually, it's just one,” he corrected her lightly. “It never went away; so you see, it's not as bad as you think.”  
   
“That's not funny,” she said briskly. “I notice you still have all of the cake left from yesterday that Aroya brought. You didn't touch a bite.”  
   
“What do I need guards for with you and Aroya monitoring my every move?” he asked testily.  
   
“That's not fair,” she said, pursing her lips and folding her arms. Something in the tilt of her head reminded him unfavorably of her father just then. “We're worried about you, the headaches, your blood pressure, the weight loss. You ought to see the doctor more often.”  
   
“Ziyal,” he said, fighting to hold his temper, “I've survived far worse than this. If I can't handle spending a little time in one room, then I'm in far worse trouble than a few headaches and slightly elevated blood pressure would indicate.”  
   
She sighed. “Your more stubborn than...” She cut herself short and frowned.  
   
“Than your father. I know what you were going to say,” he said. “That may very well be. If so it's a good thing in this situation. It keeps my head straight.”  
   
“Those new exercises you gave me have been keeping my head straight, too,” she said, thankfully changing the subject. She seemed to sense he wouldn't allow her to push him much further. “I still have nightmares sometimes, but when I awaken, I can tell if things are off and bring myself back to the present. You really helped me, and I appreciate it. It means I don't have to scare Nerys or the O'Briens in the middle of the night.”  
   
He smiled slightly. “It means you don't have to be afraid. That's the most important thing of all.”  
   
“I'm not afraid,” she said. “It's so nice to be able to say that finally. I'm somewhere I feel safe. People here are nice to me, at least some of them. They don't treat me like a freak of nature or like Prefect Dukat's daughter. I'd be a lot happier if you weren't locked up, but you're almost halfway through the time.”  
   
_And only half-mad from it. How nice for me,_  he thought wryly. “Many people here care for you,” he said. “It's neither because of or in spite of who your father is. It's because of who you are. You should remember that. Don't let the time you spent on Cardassia or in that Breen camp shape how you approach the world. You can make anything you want for yourself with your talent and by being who you are.”  
   
“Yes,  _Father,_ ” she said, rolling her eyes. He could see fond amusement beneath the expression, and her smile afterward gave her away completely.  
   
“Oh, no,” he held up a hand. “I'm no one's father and certainly not the sort of father you'd want or deserve.”  
   
“That's not the first time you've said something like that,” she said. “I think you sell yourself short. I think any child of yours would be lucky to call you father.”  
   
“You're young,” he said. “I can forgive you your terrible judgment of character.” He winced as the migraine blossomed in full and his left eardrum began to pound and flutter. It wouldn't be much longer before the vision in his left eye began to tunnel and the nausea set in.  
   
“I know that look,” she said, gracefully standing and bending to kiss the top of his head. “I'll be sure to tell the guard to turn out the lights. Please consider taking the pills.”  
   
“I'll consider it,” he said,  _and reject the idea._  
   
“Mmhmm,” she said in exasperation, “and I'm sure that's all you'll do. I'll see you tomorrow.” She hailed the guard and left him then.  
   
As she had promised, a few minutes later the holding area went dark. He lay as still as possible. If he was very lucky, he wouldn't need the bucket sitting conveniently within reach just beneath the bunk.  
   
_Julian  
Quark's Bar  
Holosuite Three_  
   
Dax drew back her bow string, her arms in perfect alignment, her head tilted slightly. She exhaled half a breath, paused, and let fly her arrow. It sailed completely over the straw target and landed somewhere out in the meadow. The pennants flying King Arthur's crest atop the distant castle battlements fluttered and snapped in the strong headwind. “Computer, stop breeze,” she said, sounding annoyed.  
   
Julian made a small, doubtful noise.  
   
“What?” she asked, looking over at him sharply, her bow held cocked to the side.  
   
“I don't think it's the wind,” he said. “You've had something on your mind all evening.” He had truly enjoyed the time they had been spending together lately. He had even taken a few tentative forays into the land of flirtation without finding himself outright rejected or stopped cold. It was encouraging.  
   
“It was so the wind,” she said, curving a determined smile and drawing another arrow from her quiver.  
   
“Fine,” he said, stepping back and gesturing with a hand. “There's no wind now, so you should easily be able to hit the bullseye.”  
   
“I will,” she said with her best “see if I don't” expression. He watched from the side. Her form was good, and yet he could already tell she was going to pull up just a bit with the release of the bowstring. The bow twanged, and the arrow just skimmed the top of the rolled hay bale, knocking free a couple of stiff pieces of straw.  
   
“You were saying?” he said.  
   
“It's your turn,” she replied, stepping out of his way.  
   
He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she was going to be difficult. She was never quick to confide her own problems and concerns, much preferring to play the role of the wise adviser or playful gossip. He decided that it was likely he was going to have to give a little to get a little, as the saying went. Besides, he did have a couple of issues on his mind he didn't mind discussing if push came to shove. Fitting an arrow to his string, he raised his bow, drew his line, and deliberately pulled slightly to the right. His arrow hit the edge of the target with a satisfying thunk.  
   
“Who has something on the brain?” she asked archly.  
   
He knew not to give in immediately, or she'd see through him. “At least I hit the target,” he said.  
   
“Hey, I hit! Well, skimmed. Besides, I told you before we started tonight that archery isn't really my thing.”  
   
“And yet I've seen you do it before in the Robin Hood program with no problem at all,” he said. He notched another arrow to the string and let fly, this time hitting low and to the left.  
   
She widened her eyes and poked him in his chest. “You were in that program, too. I remember your being a lot better than this. You hit moving targets.”  
   
“Maybe I am a little distracted,” he said, shrugging out of his quiver and laying it aside with the bow.  
   
“I knew it,” she said, following suit. “So, spill it. What's going on?”  
   
“Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head and lifting his chin. “We're not going to do this that way tonight.”  
   
“Do what?”  
   
“You're not going to sit there all ears while I spill my secrets and hang onto your own. If I'm going to tell you what's on my mind, it's only fair that you return the favor. I want your word.”  
   
“Julian...”  
   
“Your word,” he repeated with emphasis.  
   
“Fine,” she said, throwing up a hand. “You have my word. Now, you first.”  
   
“Computer, resume breeze,” he said, as it was beginning to feel hot without it beneath the blazing sun. He took a seat in the fragrant vegetation and stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. Dax sat beside him and mirrored his posture, leaning a shoulder against his companionably. “Needless to say, this doesn't go beyond us, and I mean it, Jadzia. This is the sort of gossip that if it spread could do some real damage to people we both care about.”  
   
“OK,” she said, her look more serious and thoughtful.  
   
“I'm a little...concerned...about Miles and Nerys.”  
   
“What about them? You mean that they've been fighting? Come on, Julian, what would you expect from them? They're two headstrong, opinionated individuals used to giving orders, not taking them. Add to that Kira's pregnancy hormones, and it's a recipe for disaster,” she said reasonably.  
   
“No, it's not that,” he said. “It's...hard to explain.”  
   
“Try me,” she said. “I've had a few lifetimes to collect a pretty big repository of context for subtext.”  
   
“I think...they may be getting...closer than they ought to,” he said hesitantly, recalling what Miles said to him about helping Kira out of the bathtub and noticing a rash on her thighs. He didn't doubt that the action itself was innocent, but it spoke of a level of familiarity he hadn't expected to develop between the two.  
   
Dax frowned thoughtfully. The fact that she wasn't dismissing his concern out of hand made him a little more worried than he had been. “I admit Nerys has been talking a lot about Miles lately. I chalked it up to the fact that she's living with him, but she doesn't talk all that much about Keiko or Molly.”  
   
“It's probably something they're not even fully aware of,” he said. “Pregnancy hormones and pheromones have powerful effects that to this day aren't fully understood. It becomes even more complicated when you consider the unusual nature of the situation. Kira is carrying Miles' baby. She's aware of him on a physical level that she wouldn't normally be, and vice versa.” He paused, thinking about it more in depth. “It's probably nothing to worry about.”  
   
“On Earth there's a saying. Where there's smoke, there's fire. If you honestly think something is developing along those lines, you owe it to Miles as a friend to talk to him about it. If he's not aware of it, like you say, maybe it will make him aware of it and make him pay attention,” she said.  
   
“That's a good idea. It's not going to be an easy subject to broach. He got very defensive with me when I just teased him about it a little earlier,” he said.  
   
“That's not good. In my experience, people don't get defensive about things that don't at least have some ring of truth.”  
   
“And that's why I like talking to you,” he said, half smiling. “You have so much experience from which to draw. Now. Your turn.”  
   
She sighed and flopped to her back, stretching her arms above her head and gazing into the sky that was a near perfect match to her eyes. “It's stupid,” she said.  
   
He shifted onto one hip to face her and propped himself on his elbow. “Apparently not stupid enough to just let go of. Tell me.”  
   
“It's Worf,” she said, glancing at him.  
   
_Of course,_  he thought, careful not to let his irritation at the revelation show.  _It's always Worf these days._  “What about him?” he asked.  
   
She sighed again, sounding more unhappy than before. “I think I may have waited too late to let him know I'm interested,” she said.  
   
“Oh?” he asked, loathing himself for feeling hopeful at this turn of events. He wasn't being a very good friend just then.  
   
“Yeah. You know the Klingons that came to the station yesterday? Grilka, Tumek, and Thopok?”  
   
“Not personally,” he said.  
   
“It doesn't matter,” she brushed that aside. “The thing is that Worf has suddenly decided he has a bad case of par'Mach for Grilka.”  
   
“Par'Mach?” he asked.  
   
“Eh, consider it the Klingon version of being head over heels,” she said glumly.  
   
“Does he even know this Grilka?” he asked.  
   
“No,” she said, now sounding irritated. “She just swept onto the station into Quark's Bar, and he decided she's everything he wants in a mate. Regal, stately, dignified.”  
   
“Well, if you ask me, all that sounds like is high maintenance and boring,” he offered, trying to cheer her up.  
   
She shook her head. “Not to a Klingon,” she said, bringing her arms down and folding them across her chest. “He's just so hard to approach. I never know exactly what to say. If I was still Curzon, I'd know.”  
   
“If you were still Curzon, you wouldn't want him,” he pointed out.  
   
“True,” she said. She rolled to her side to face him. “I think he's going to approach her tonight and state his intention to court her. Why did I have to be so slow with him? That's so not me! I go after what I want. I always have. I don't let people intimidate me.”  
   
“Maybe...maybe it's better this way. Worf has trouble adapting to the way things are here. It's why he moved onto the Defiant. Maybe a traditional Klingon woman would help him feel more settled.”  
   
“Grilka isn't a traditional Klingon woman,” Dax snapped. “She married Quark!”  
   
“Does Worf know that?” he asked.  
   
“Yeah,” she said. “I told him. It didn't make a difference.”  
   
He reached to take her hand, keeping his gaze on the contrast between her pale skin and his dark. “You can't look at things as though you only get one chance,” he said. “It's true that there are times in life when that applies, life and death situations, observing rare quantum anomalies...” He glanced up, satisfied to see her taking the small joke in the spirit in which he intended it, her eyes twinkling. “But most of the time, it's not nearly that cut and dried. So you didn't take an opportunity when it might have been better timing. It doesn't mean you can't take that opportunity now.” He felt his heart rate quicken as he realized he was working up to telling her that he had been wrong about being completely over her. He didn't think he would've had the courage had she not revealed that Worf might not be an option any longer.  
   
“You know what, Julian?” she said. “You're absolutely right. If I give up now, it just proves I'm not right for him. I've overcome bigger challenges than Grilka. Just because I'm not Klingon doesn't mean I don't have anything to offer.” She squeezed his hand and leaned to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I was so caught up in feeling stupid for being jealous that I didn't bother looking past it to what I could do. I'm so glad you're my friend. It's not easy for me to open up to people like that.”  
   
Somehow he managed to find a smile. “You're welcome,” he said, the words sounding hollow to his ears. “I'm glad I could be of help.”  
   
She smiled brightly and sat up, shaking out her pony tail. “We've still got some time left. Do you want to walk down to the lake and take a dip? It's hot in here even with the breeze.”  
   
“Some other time, maybe,” he said, pushing up to his feet. “The sun's glare has given me a bit of a headache.”  
   
She stood beside him and pulled him into a tight, warm embrace. “Get some sleep, then,” she said. “If you want, I'll work the Kira angle with the Miles problem. She talks to me. If there is something going on, I think she'd tell me. I'll work to steer her right, explain about the hormones and pheromones. I'm sure you're right about that having an effect. I remember my pregnancies...”  
   
“I don't think any woman would be able to forget,” he said, pulling away from her. “Good night, Jadzia. Enjoy your swim.” He took a few steps away from her and said, “Computer, show door.” He walked out before he could embarrass himself.  
   
_Your stupid speech about last chances. You may as well have lit up a sign above his head and turned it on just for her,_  he thought.  _Why do I keep being drawn to people who can't or won't love me back? I'm sure it would make a fascinating psychological study, except for the fact that the counselor will never get the full picture._  
   
He hadn't seen Counselor Telnorri in a while. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to schedule another appointment. He knew he had been somewhat irritable and short tempered ever since his return from the Founder homeworld. He also knew why, yet he was reluctant to discuss Garak with the man. Did he fear judgment, or was he afraid to find out something unsavory about himself? He descended the spiral staircase and left the bar. He had a bottle of scotch waiting for him in his quarters. Besides, he was in the mood to drink alone.  
   
_Garak  
Holding Cell_  
   
Tuning out the drunk Bolian snoring two cells down from him, Garak worked quietly on the newest alterations to Major Kira's uniforms. It was amazing how much her girth had swollen in the past couple of months. Cardassian pregnancies were never so large or obvious. Neither were Bajoran pregnancies, their gestation period even less than that of his people. He wondered what evolutionary advantage there was to a mother's growing so large and cumbersome on her feet, or for that matter carrying a child for a full nine months, sometimes a little more.  
   
He liked this time of night. It was the only time he could be assured that he wouldn't get visitors, as the security office was closed to all except necessary personnel. He realized that there was a certain ungratefulness to wishing that people would just leave him alone when his friends were going out of their way to make him as comfortable and well provided as possible. To complain at all about such painless confinement was ridiculous when he knew of the alternatives.  
   
He frowned slightly as he meticulously ripped out a side seam to the fluted tunic.  _When did you lose your patience, Elim?_  he asked himself. There was a time in his life that staying in one place for extended periods was all he ever did. How odd it was that the psychological effect of being imprisoned was so very different from being bound by duty to an assignment. He could pretend all he liked, but he was not watching the Starfleet and Bajoran security officers, no more than he ever had. Closer proximity didn't reveal new information. He had been too thorough in the first place.  
   
Still, it was fascinating to spend time with Odo now that he was a solid like the rest of them. He watched him eat and drink, read the simple pleasure he took in the very novelty of it. He wisely avoided asking him about Aroya, instead letting the woman herself tell him of the two dinners the two had shared so far. He couldn't tell if she was being overly optimistic or if perhaps there was a genuine spark. He'd know if he ever had the opportunity to see the two of them together in the same room, something he intended to angle once he was released.  
   
He carefully pinned the new seam line for the maternity tunic. Had he chosen to do so, he could have shorted out his security force field with the pins, concealed them in various places upon his person and used them to painful and nefarious ends, or even swallowed them to gain release from his cell and a chance at escape from the less secure infirmary. This, too, was one of the many mental games he played with himself to avoid the vicissitudes of walls that were too close for comfort. Somehow, knowing that he could escape if he chose made them feel less confining.  
   
He thought of his old apartment in the heart of Cardassia City, a small, squalid one room affair that he managed to keep neat and clean despite the ever-present dust. What had really attracted him to the place was the terrace out back and the small garden plot in a fenced courtyard. The landlady fancied herself as a green thumb. It had been easy to endear himself to her, negotiate a lower rent due to the need for repairs, and get it lower yet by the promise of tending the flowers and vegetables when she couldn't be there.  
   
It was his secret retreat, something untouched by Tain. He could wander any street in the district that he wished and hear countless conversations behind high walls, the people under the mistaken impression that simply because they could not be seen, they could not be heard. He learned things that amazed his father and mentor, earned him high praise for being resourceful. He wondered if the old man ever realized that it all came from enjoying evening walks and literally stopping to smell the flowers.  
   
He thought about the recitation mask shoved deeply in his closet and protected by a box with his very best lock and security code and Leeta's question to him some time back.  _Have you ever heard of the Oralian Way?_ Why would she ask him such a thing? How did she even know of it? His people had worked hard during the occupation to stamp out the last of the Oralians, both on the homeworld and on Bajor. He recalled how he felt when Tolan handed it to him, a last gift from his deathbed, the dread he felt. The shame. The curiosity. The confusion.  
   
“Faugh, you're making connections where there are none,” he murmured, tugging the newly sewn hem to be certain it would hold. “Next you'll assume Leeta broke into your closet.” He knew it was such a ridiculous thought it didn't bear examination. If she didn't know of the mask, why ask? Did he want to re-open that conversation or let it lie? What good could come of it? “No good,” he said firmly. “Drop it.”  
   
“Who's there?” a thick voice slurred from the only other occupied cell.  
   
“No one important,” Garak said. “Go back to sleep.”  
   
“Will, if you stop talking,” the Bolian retorted. Garak heard him shift on his mattress. He sounded large. He hadn't actually gotten a good look at him when he came in.  
   
He turned his attention to Kira's boots. Why the woman insisted on wearing such tall heels for duty was beyond him. It was her knees and toes she was killing, no scales off his side. Pulling out the inadequate insoles, he flopped them up and down to test their viability for anything else and chose to discard them. He couldn't stop her from wearing impractical shoes, but he could at least make them more comfortable and supportive.  _Tailor, cobbler, and gardener extraordinaire,_  he thought with wry amusement.  _Your one stop shop for a dress, shoes, and a corsage. Why do I suddenly miss Mila?  
   
Julian  
Quark's Bar_  
   
It was late. He probably should have gone home at least two hours ago instead of sitting at the bar drinking and listening to Morn drone about his siblings. What was Dax doing in that holosuite with Worf and Quark, of all people? It seemed everyone else had associations to keep them busy, Miles his family and Kira, Dax her obsession with Worf, Odo the woman Garak had introduced him to, and Garak...he didn't want to think about.  
   
He raised his head from its prop on his fist and glanced around the bar, having stopped really listening to Morn over an hour ago. It never bothered the Lurian. Julian believed he'd talk to an empty barstool if he had no one else around. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Miles with his head hunkered down between hunched shoulders at a table in one of the dark corners beneath the upper level balcony. Giving an absent pat to Morn's arm, he grabbed his ale and headed over. His friend looked surprised and not particularly happy to see him. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at the chair to his right.  
   
Miles nodded and pursed his lips. “If you want.”  
   
Julian slid into the chair. “You get in another fight with Major Kira?” he asked.  
   
Miles averted hazel eyes with a furtive look. “No. Nothin' like that.”  
   
“But it is about Kira?” Julian pressed.  
   
“What're you gettin' at?” the man snapped.  
   
He leaned in closer so that they wouldn't be easily overheard. In a bar full of Ferengi, it was always a wise precaution. “Miles...she's carrying your baby. It's natural that you might develop...well, some confusing feelings, both of you.”  
   
“She's not my wife,” he said, lifting his scotch glass and taking a hefty swallow.  
   
“No, she's not, but she is your baby's surrogate. She's living with you, working with you; you see her more than you see Keiko. You probably even have more in common. There's no reason to feel guilty about how you feel.”  
   
“Isn't there? I have my hands all over her all th' time. We talk a lot when she can't sleep because of her back or th' swellin'. Sometimes I feel like she understands me better than my own wife, an' sometimes I find myself wishin' Keiko would find something else t' do when we're all in th' living room together.” He dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned so close their hair almost touched. “An' now I think she feels th' same way.”  
   
Julian frowned. “Did she say something to you?”  
   
Miles leaned back again, sighing. “In a manner o' speakin'. I got t' talkin' about Ireland, an' how lately I've been feeling a little...I don't know...homesick. I said I'd like t' take some leave and visit for a few weeks. She said she wouldn't mind comin' with me. I liked th' idea. For a couple of seconds, I actually considered it!”  
   
Julian took a swallow of ale and thought about what to say. “You considered it, but you didn't rush off to make plans. You're not touching her just to touch her. You're helping her because she's very uncomfortable and sometimes in pain from carrying your son. Even if you have an attraction, even if it's mutual, it's not something either of you has to act on. Right?”  
   
He nodded, looking a little uncertain. “Sometimes it's hard not to.”  
   
“That's the nature of attraction. When you first met Keiko and realized you were interested, wasn't it the same way?”  
   
The engineer smiled slightly and nodded. “Couldn't keep my mind off of her. I'd go t' work every shift just thinkin' about how long it would be before I could see her again. It got t' the point I couldn't see livin' my life without her, no matter what.”  
   
Julian nodded. “That was when you had biochemistry on your side, a flood of endorphins and all sorts of feel good brain chemicals, making her seem intoxicating, literally. It's a form of intoxication. What happened when that feeling wore off?”  
   
“Well, we weren't married too long before we had Molly. She came first after that, but it didn't mean we didn't still enjoy each others' company an' want t' spend as much time together as we could. You know it hasn't always been easy for us. We've had a lot of ups and downs, sometimes more downs than ups since coming t' the station. This new pregnancy threw me for a loop. I was thinkin' we could reconnect, but so far it hasn't really worked out that way.”  
   
“How do you see Kira? Is she the sort of person you'd want to spend the rest of your life with?” he asked.  
   
Miles snorted a soft laugh. “T' tell you th' truth, I think th' two of us would kill each other if we had t' live together long-term. One of th' things making th' whole arrangement bearable is knowin' it's temporary.”  
   
Julian smiled faintly. “You can see that even with brain chemistry working against you. Whatever attraction you feel for Kira, even if at times it seems strong, is just that. Attraction. You love Keiko. This doesn't change that, and as long as you don't act on your attraction, you have no reason to feel ashamed.”  
   
He nodded slowly and polished off his scotch. “You're right,” he said. “You're absolutely right.” Pushing to his feet, he clapped him on the shoulder. “Knew there was a reason I keep y' around. I'm headin' home. Been a long day.”  
   
“Glad to be of help,” he said, holding his smile until the man was out of his line of sight. Miles was able to make a difficult situation work out. Why couldn't he ever seem to manage the same? He signaled a waiter and ordered another ale.  
   
He was well into his cups when a shadow fell across his shoulder. Looking up blearily, he saw the last person on the station he wanted to talk to besides Worf—Ziyal. “I couldn't sleep,” she said, then glanced over her shoulder, “and it's a pretty lively crowd here tonight. Leeta's working.”  
   
He gave a less than gracious gesture for her to take the empty chair to his left and picked up his ale glass to drain it. “You'll forgive me if I'm not one hundred percent coherent.”  
   
“Of course,” she said, pulling out the chair and slipping into it. She laced her fingers on the tabletop and squeezed them together tightly enough to lighten the knuckles. “Can I be frank with you about something?”

**Part III**

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” he said with exaggerated emphasis. His head was spinning. On some level, he knew that allowing her to share his company in this state wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done. He had no idea what he might say.  
   
“I get the feeling you don't like me very much, and I don't understand why. If I've done something, I want to know about it. I can't make it right if I don't know what it is.” Her shadowed eyes looked nearly black in the low light, the black of midnight in an Earth sky, clear and earnest.  
   
“You haven't done anything,” he said. How could he explain or justify that seeing her bothered him because of how readily Garak accepted her? He knew there was nothing romantic between them; however, there was an undeniable bond. He was jealous, and it was embarrassing.  
   
“Then what is it? Is it because of my father? Did he do something to you?” She shifted in her seat and glanced down at her hands on the table.  
   
“No, it's not your father. I won't...lie...and say I like him particularly. I wouldn't judge you based on him, though.” He signaled a waiter, stalling for time. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked her.  
   
“Spring wine would be nice,” she said.  
   
“Have you ever tried scotch?” he asked.  
   
She blinked in surprise. “No.”  
   
When the waiter arrived, he said, “Bring us a bottle of scotch and two glasses.”  
   
“I don't think...” Ziyal began.  
   
He interrupted her. “If you really want to hear this, I'm going to need to be a little drunker than I am now, and drinking alone is pathetic.”  
   
She closed her mouth and nodded discreetly at the waiter. “All right,” she said. “I'll try it. If it makes me sick, you're going to have to be the one to do something about it.”  
   
“You're in good hands. I'm an excellent doctor,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. They waited in awkward silence for the bottle, and he poured her a little over half a glass before pouring one for himself. He lifted the lowball and clacked it against hers. “Cheers.” He downed it in one burning swallow and gave her an expectant look.  
   
She lifted hers and jerked her head back, her eyes tearing up at the corners. “It's really strong!” she said.  
   
“That's just the fumes. Get it past your nose, and try not to inhale. It goes down a lot smoother than that,” he said.  
   
Looking dubious, she did as he instructed, tipping her head back quickly, downing it, and coughing into a fist while fanning herself with her other hand. “Prophets! That's horrible! You really, really don't like me, do you?”  
   
He chuckled. “Nonsense. I never drink with anyone I don't like. The truth is I don't really know you, do I?” He poured her a second glass and another for himself. “It takes some getting used to. Try it again.”  
   
She shook her head. “Maybe later. My stomach feels like it's on fire.”  
   
“Suit yourself,” he said, eying his glass before tossing back the contents. “Now. Let's see. Where to start?” Lifting a brow, he sat back and eyed her. “It's Garak,” he slurred, drunk enough to give himself permission not to hold back.  
   
She sat up a bit straighter. “That's silly. He's not interested in me.”  
   
“Oh, that's where you're wrong,” he said, gesturing with a wobbly index finger. “I don't mean...romantically. But he is interested in you, enough that he never pushes you away.”  
   
She lifted her glass, glanced into it, and took a wincing sip. “He tolerates me,” she said, glancing back to him again. “I think sometimes I annoy him very much, and he's just too kind to say so.”  
   
“Not to me he isn't,” he said bleakly.  
   
She frowned and reached to squeeze his forearm. “He sees you as an adult,” she said. “You're threatening. I may be young, but even I can see that attachments scare him. I don't know why. I don't know enough about Cardassia or his past to be able to put it together. I'm not a threat. I'm not somebody he'd ever get too close to. I'd rather be in your position than mine.” She downed the rest of her drink suddenly, her eyes spilling over from the strength of it and more coughing following.  
   
“No, you wouldn't,” he said, pouring more for both of them. He reflected that they were blowing through that bottle pretty quickly, their lowballs taking more than a shot at each pour. “He won't have anything to do with me beyond the mandatory physical exams, and I have no idea why.”  
   
“Do you want me to ask him?” she asked without guile.  
   
He shook his head. “He'd just lie to you. He seems to take perverse delight in it. There's no telling what he would tell you, but you could be sure it wasn't close to the truth. I keep telling myself it's for the best. If you knew the sorts of things we've been through...” He grimaced. “I have no idea why I'm saying all of these things to you. I answered your question a while back.”  
   
“Who else would you tell?” she asked. Her pupils seemed wider, and she bobbled a little in her seat when she reached for her glass.  
   
“You may want to slow down with that,” he said with a vague gesture.  
   
“I'm fine,” she said, tossing back her third. She managed not to cough this time, but her eyes still watered. “You're right. It does grow on you.”  
   
Her question caught up with him. “What do you mean who would I tell?” he asked, pausing to catch up with her on the drinks. “I have...lots of friends.”  
   
“Most of them in Starfleet or Bajorans,” she said, slurring a little. “No offense to any of them. I've gotten close to some of them myself, but...you gotta admit, when it comes to Cardassians, most of them don't want to hear things like that.” She widened her eyes. “If you knew how much grief I caught from Nerys when I first started socializing with him...” She paused and tilted her head.  
   
“What?” he asked.  
   
“I forgot where I was going with that,” she said with a shrug. “My point, I think, is that it's not something you can talk about with people who don't like him or your ex-girlfriend.” She put a hand up to her mouth, and both shoulders twitched in either a belch or a hiccup. He couldn't tell which.  
   
“Who doesn't like Leeta?” he asked, frowning deeply.  
   
“What are you talking about?” she asked, staring.  
   
“You said people don't like Leeta. Wait a minute. Who told you we broke up?” His frown deepened further.  
   
“I didn't say that. I said...” She frowned, too. “Now you've got me confused. I said you can't talk to Leeta about it, and she told me. Why?”  
   
“She wasn't supposed to tell anybody until we could have the breaking up ceremony.”  
   
“Well, don't tell her I told you. I don't want her mad at me.” She reached for the bottle.  
   
He blocked her hand and moved it out of her reach. “I think you've had enough of that.”  
   
“You're the one who wanted me to drink it with you,” she said, her brow ridges dipping in irritation.  
   
“You can have some more in a little bit. We both need to back it off. When you stand up, you'll understand what I mean.”  
   
She folded both arms on the table and leaned some of her weight on them. “So you've been avoiding me because Garak doesn't avoid me?” she asked.  
   
“Yes,” he said, propping his cheek on a fist. “That's pretty wretched of me, isn't it?”  
   
“You love him a lot,” she said, lowering her head so that she could rest her chin on her forearms. “I do, too, and neither one of us is getting what we want from him. I don't have anybody to talk to about it, either. Nerys doesn't want to hear it, and Leeta is his friend. I don't want to put her in the middle of anything.”  
   
He mirrored her position and scooted a little closer. “For what it's worth, I think you're wrong.”  
   
“About what?” she asked, turning her head so that her cheek could rest on her arm and she could look at him more directly.  
   
“About his just tolerating you,” he said. “I've known him a few years, long enough to know that he doesn't socialize after hours with anyone whose company he doesn't enjoy, or tolerate anyone taking up more of his time than he's willing to give. You're special to him. He has even said as much.”  
   
She blinked sleepily. “You just got through saying he lies all the time.”  
   
“I don't think he was lying about that.” He reached over and gave her forearm a warm squeeze, feeling bad that he had taken such a dim view of her to this point. It felt good being able to get some of that off his chest with somebody who obviously didn't judge him for it or disapprove. “I sometimes think if I was just Cardassian, he and I wouldn't have all these problems. He wouldn't view being attached to me as something shameful, or weak.”  
   
“Don't be so sure of that,” she said. Lifting her head slightly, she gave a frown that seemed to encompass their general surroundings. “Can we go somewhere else? It's so loud in here.”  
   
He nodded and struggled to his feet, more intoxicated than he had realized. She did the same and stumbled against him, giggling and apologizing at the same time. “I don't think I've ever been this drunk before,” she confessed much too loudly.  
   
He snickered and snagged the bottle by its neck from the table. “I'm pretty far gone, too, but I think we can make it to one of our quarters. Which is closer?”  
   
“I don't know where you live,” she said, laughing again.  
   
“You're in Kira's quarters now?” he asked. She nodded. “You're closer. Let's go.” He offered her an arm, and she took it, both of them leaning heavily on one another to stay upright. “Once more into the breach,” he announced grandly. They staggered their way down the darkened Promenade, stepped into the turbolift with exaggerated care, and thudded and giggled themselves through the habitat ring until they reached her door. “Should I leave you here?” he asked. “I don't want any rumors getting started.”  
   
“Rumors?” she scoffed. “Who cares? I don't care. People on Cardassia said nasty things about me all the time. Some people here do it, too. It'd be a nice change to have...to have a nice rumor. I could do waaay worse.” She punched in the door code and gestured him in ahead of her.  
   
The scent of paint and linseed oil greeted him, overlaying older incense and a faint whiff of whatever perfume she was wearing. Paintings in various stages of completion sat propped against the walls and furnishings. Other than that, the room was tidy. He waited for her to move some of her work aside so they could sit on the sofa and gratefully flopped onto the cushions. The scotch sloshed in the bottle without spilling. “Glasses?” he asked.  
   
With a rebellious light in her eyes, she took the bottle from him and drank straight from the lip. “No. If I'm going to be disreputably drunk, I'm going to get there in a disreputable way.” She offered it back to him with a grin.  
   
Her attitude amused him. He took it and took a swig. “So what now?” he asked.  
   
“Tell me something random about yourself, something Garak doesn't know,” she said.  
   
“That's a tall order. I don't even know what Garak knows about me. He has this way of finding out things,” he said.  
   
“Then something you didn't tell him,” she said, claiming the bottle from him again.  
   
“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious.  
   
“If we're going to be friends,” she said slowly, seeming to have trouble focusing enough to get it out properly, “we're going to have to...have to come up with things that don't have to do with Garak. I don't want us to be talking about him all the time. It wouldn't be right.”  
   
“I take it you've decided we're to be friends, then?” he asked.  
   
“I have. I'm a very stubborn woman, you'll find. I don't always get my way. It doesn't stop me from trying. So, tell me.” She teased him by dangling the bottle in reach and pulling it back before he could snag it.  
   
“Holding the scotch hostage is an act of war,” he warned her playfully. “All right. Let's see. Something I never talked about with Garak. Hmm. I don't get along with my parents.”  
   
“Why not?” she asked.  
   
He took the bottle. “Lots of reasons,” he said, looking away. “The usual. I'm a disappointment to them.”  
   
“How? You're a well respected doctor in Starfleet. What did they want you to be? A waste extraction technician?”  
   
That made him laugh. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, they actually did want me to be a doctor. On Earth. In Paris, where I could have made head surgeon in five years, not out here on the frontier on a space station. It was an obscure assignment when I took it. Nobody knew about the wormhole or the Gamma Quadrant.”  
   
She turned sideways on the couch to face him, tucking a knee up and leaning her bent arm on the top of the sofa back so she could rest her cheek against her upper arm. “Why haven't you ever talked about this with Garak?” she asked.  
   
“I...” he hesitated, having to think about it. “Now that you mention it, I don't know. He never asked, and he never talks about his family.” He offered her the bottle. When she shook her head, he carefully set it aside on the floor within easy reach.  
   
“Do you think that it's just that your parents wanted you closer to them, or is there something else to it?” she asked.  
   
“There's definitely something else to it. No, Ziyal, I think I could be the top mind in all of Starfleet Medical, the top medical mind in the entire Alpha Quadrant, and they'd find something to fault. For a long time, I lived my life trying to please them and prove myself to them. Then one day I realized it just wasn't going to happen, and I could waste another ten to fifteen years of my life chasing a shadow, or I could let it go and try to make myself happy for a change.”  
   
“And here you are,” she said, “not happy.” She bit her lower lip and stretched her arm across the top of the couch, lightly touching his shoulder. “Trying to figure out why Garak is keeping you away. What if it doesn't have anything to do with you at all? What if it's him?”  
   
He felt his eyes trying to water all of a sudden and blamed it on the scotch. “Then that's worse. It means I matter so little that I'm not even a consideration.”  
   
“Or it means you matter so much he can't see any other way to deal with it,” she said. “He told me what he did on the Defiant. How close he came to killing all of you. Maybe he can't stand the thought of being put in that position twice, and he knows there's a good chance he might be.”  
   
“I thought you were drunk,” he said, squinting at her.  
   
“I am,” she said, smiling slightly. “I also have Cardassian blood. We don't manifest intoxication quite the same way you do. I'm thinking slower mostly, and it's easier to focus now that we aren't in a loud bar. I know how it feels to be pushed away from somebody you want to be with more than anything. I'd rather be with my father than here, no matter how much I love Nerys and the friends I've made. I wanted him for so long, and when I finally had him, I was happier than I had ever been in my entire life. I didn't care if all of Cardassia despised me as long as my father loved me and stayed by my side.  
   
“I know he has to do this, fight this war the rest of them won't fight. He loves Cardassia, just like Garak does. He loves Cardassia more than he loves me, but he does love me. I accept that, because I love him, too. I'm willing to be patient. Maybe that's what you need to do, have faith that Garak loves you and will come to you when he can, after Cardassia is safe. Don't you understand that this is what it means to love a Cardassian? They're not going to change.”  
   
He knew that if Garak could hear her comparing him to Dukat in that way, he'd have a fit. He decided he'd never tell him. He wasn't sure she was correct in her assessment of her father and his ambitions, but the thrust of her argument was compellingly sound. “Come here,” he said, reaching to pull her into his arms. He hugged her tightly and briefly rested his chin on the top of her head. “I believe I understand what Garak sees in you. You're wise beyond your years.” Releasing her, he lifted the bottle from the floor and offered it to her.  
   
She took it and smiled, turning to settle herself comfortably against his side and taking a long swig. “Then why is he always telling me I have terrible judgment?” she asked.  
   
He took the bottle back and took a chug. “Because,” he said, “he's an incorrigible liar.”  
   
_Kira's Quarters_  
   
Julian awoke to the loud question, “What in the hell is going on here?”  
   
He winced sharply and put a hand up to his temple, pain lancing straight to the center of his brain. His mouth tasted like old socks. Someone stirred at his side, and he lifted his head, squinting against bright light. “Major?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”  
   
“I could ask you the same thing,” she demanded, glaring at him. “You're in  _my_ quarters.”  
   
“Nerys,” came Ziyal's miserable voice, “stop shouting.” She pulled away from him, sitting up straight on the sofa, and knuckled her eyes.  
   
The major bent forward and grabbed the empty bottle from the floor. “Scotch?” she asked, thrusting it toward his face. “You got her drunk on scotch?”  
   
“He didn't get me drunk,” Ziyal said, leaning forward and taking the bottle away from her. “I did. We just talked for a while, and I guess we fell asleep.” She glanced at Julian. “Did I miss anything exciting?”  
   
“No,” he said immediately. “Nothing exciting in the least.”  
   
“Excuse us for a minute,” Kira said to Ziyal. She hauled him up from the sofa by his upper arm and shoved him into the bedroom with both hands at his back, instructing the computer to close the door behind them. Swinging him by an arm, she pushed his back hard against the shut door. “I'm only going to say this once, because you and I are friends. I know how you are. I promise you,  _promise you_ , you touch one hair on that girl's head in an inappropriate way, and you and I are going to have a big problem. Do you understand?”  
   
“You know how I am?” he asked, his temper flaring right along with his hangover headache. “Now just a damned minute...”  
   
“You've hit on Dax. You've hit on me. You've hit on Garak. You've hit on countless women whose names I don't even know. Leeta. Do I really need to spell this out for you?” she asked, her black eyes blazing.  
   
A bit of the anger faded. “All right, fine. I'm not denying that I can be flirtatious, but I swear to you it wasn't like that with Ziyal. She's Gul Dukat's daughter. I'm not an idiot!”  
   
“I wonder,” she said, stepping back. He rubbed his belly where the curve of hers had pressed it uncomfortably. “Sleeping here all night? She may not care what people say about her. I do. Dukat asked me to look after her. What do you think he's going to do when he comes back to this station and somebody says something about how you two got drunk and spent the night together? I'm going to be the one he blames.”  
   
“Since when do you care what Dukat thinks?” he snapped.  
   
“Since I gave him my word I'd do the best I could to look after his daughter,” she snapped back. “I take my commitments seriously. You may not think anything of it, but neither Bajorans nor Cardassians are as casual about those sorts of things as humans are. Ziyal has enough stacked against her as it is.”  
   
“I'm sorry,” he said, dropping his gaze. “I won't let it happen again, and Nerys? You have to believe me. I have no intention of flirting with or hurting her. We're just friends.”  
   
She nodded tightly. “You're late for work,” she said, “and I want to talk to Ziyal alone now.”  
   
“All right,” he said, turning and having the computer open the door. He gave Ziyal a rueful smile on his way toward the exit and mouthed,  _We'll talk later._  He didn't want to do or say anything else to anger Kira further. He felt lucky to be leaving without bruising or bloodshed.  
   
_Garak  
The Infirmary_  
   
Garak sat where he was directed in the waiting area, his guard's lack of attentiveness partially insulting, partially amusing. Perhaps it was that Odo knew that he would never voluntarily flee the space station without better incentive than he had and had informed his guards of the same, or perhaps his completely tractable behavior had lulled the Starfleeter into a sense of security. Loud laughter came from down the hallway. His hearing wasn't good enough to discern specific voices just from distant laughter. However, if he had to guess, at least some of them were Klingons. Nobody had more obnoxious laughter in the Alpha Quadrant.  
   
Julian emerged from the short hallway leading to the exam and surgery rooms, looking quite put out. “I'm sorry, but it's going to be a while,” he said. He glanced at the guard. “If you have something else to do, I suggest you just take him back to his cell. I can send for you when I'm done in here.”  
   
“He is my job,” the stern faced woman said with a dry expression. “To tell you the truth, it's nice getting a break from the security office. We'll stay here unless it gets crowded.”  
   
“Suit yourself,” Julian said, retreating to the back again.  
   
About ten minutes later, a tall, regal Klingon woman emerged from the hallway to head for the exit. She didn't spare Garak or his guard a glance, and yet he had little doubt that she had seen them and taken their measure. Hers had to be some of the laughter he had heard. He wondered idly what she was doing there and if she was part of the reason Julian seemed so irritated. It wasn't important enough to expend energy upon to try to find out.  
   
Almost an hour later, Dax and Worf emerged together, laughing and walking arm in arm. As soon as Worf saw Garak, he released her and straightened himself, his dark eyes level and hard. Dax's smile faded, too. He offered both of them an exaggeratedly pleasant closed lipped smile and inclined his head without dropping eye contact.  
   
“Incarceration agrees with you, Tailor,” Worf said, his eyes narrowing slightly with the sarcasm.  
   
“I assure you it could be worse,” Garak said airily. “I could be a Dominion prisoner. Wait, supposedly they don't take prisoners. They just kill everyone. Do you think we'll have the chance to find out for ourselves soon?”  
   
Dax put a hand on Worf's arm when he started forward and shook her head. “Don't,” she said. “He's just baiting you, and he's not worth it.”  
   
“What's the matter?” he asked, shifting his focus to Dax. “Are you afraid your brave warrior is about to stain his honor by attacking an unarmed prisoner, or are you worried about his Starfleet career?” He gave carefully nuanced, acidic emphasis to “Starfleet” and inwardly smiled when he saw Worf bristle further.  
   
“That's enough,” the security officer said, shooting him a warning look. “From all of you. I don't want to have to call a security team to the infirmary, but I will if you force the issue.”  
   
“We won't,” Dax said tightly. “We're leaving.” She pulled Worf in her wake with both hands to his forearm. Worf shot him a look that said it wasn't over, and he answered with his best “any time” stare.  
   
“I get the distinct impression they don't like me,” he said, gracing his guard with innocent affront.  
   
She rolled her eyes. “I don't want to hear it. If I had my way, you'd be on Tantalus V serving twenty to life for what you tried to do to Constable Odo. It's not my place to question my captain, though.”  
   
“True,” he said, unruffled by her animosity. “Break the chain of command, and we could be neighbors.”  
   
She made a small sound of disgust and folded her arms, staring straight ahead and setting her features to stony neutrality. With her arms folded, he calculated that he could reach her sidearm before she had time to untangle herself. By the time she realized what was happening, he could have the setting of her phaser shifted from stun to kill. She'd be dead before she could stand. He smiled broadly.  
   
“I doubt I even want to know what that smile is about,” Julian's voice brought him back from his mental exercise. “I'm ready for you now.”  
   
He and his guard stood, the two of them walking down the corridor, Garak behind Julian, the guard behind Garak. She remained in the corridor when he entered the exam room and obligingly took his seat. He was well used to this routine by now and didn't need instructions. Scanning beams passed over him while Julian took tricorder readings.  
   
“Your blood pressure is higher than last time. You've lost another three kilograms, and your cortisol levels are elevated,” the doctor said. “I know you don't like medication. In this case, I really don't care. I'm going to put you on something to get that blood pressure under control. I don't want you developing an aneurysm in one of the blood vessels in your brain. We still don't know all of the effects of that implant. We do know you have more than your fair share of scar tissue. So I'm giving you a choice. You can take the pills I give you, or I can haul you in here every day for a hypospray treatment. While you're in our custody, your care is my responsibility. You don't have the right to refuse this treatment.”  
   
“You can haul me in,” Garak said. “I'm not taking your pills.”  
   
“Damn it, Garak,” he snapped, glaring across at him from one of his displays. “Why do you have to act like I'm trying to kill you when you know better than that? You want it that way, then that's the way it's going to be. Every day until you're done with your sentence. I ought to find one of the older models that hurt just for the trouble.”  
   
He smirked. “That's the spirit, Doctor. Make me suffer. All of your colleagues would love to see it.”  
   
“They may for all I know. Fortunately for you, I wouldn't.” He fell silent while he ran the rest of his scans and tests, making a few notes in his PADD. Garak endured the process without complaining. Although he was far from eager to return to his cell, he loathed being in the infirmary. “Computer, close exam room door two,” Julian said.  
   
Garak arched an eye ridge. “Doctor?” he said. “You're going to make my guard nervous. Nervous guards have itchy trigger fingers, and I haven't exactly endeared myself to her this morning.”  
   
“I'm certain you can handle her,” he said, turning to face him. “A wise person recently warned me of the pitfalls that come with loving Cardassians.”  
   
“Really?” he asked. “Would this wise person be named Dax?”  
   
“As a matter of fact, no. Besides, I've decided I shouldn't listen to Dax when it comes to you. In all of her lifetimes, she has never loved a Cardassian. She doesn't have the requisite experience.”  
   
He had no intention of showing it, but he was intrigued. Who could the doctor have been speaking with on this subject? Where was he going with it? “You have my attention,” he said.  
   
“Good,” he said, stepping closer. “Glad to hear it. A long time ago you told me that if I wanted you, I had better mean it or not waste your time, not quite in those words, but close enough. I meant it. I still do. Now, I realize I can't force the issue. If you've decided this isn't worth the risk, I can't change your mind, particularly in light of what happened in the Gamma Quadrant.  
   
“But you see, Garak, there are pitfalls to loving humans, too. On the whole, we're a stubborn, intractable lot with insipid romantic notions embarrassingly sentimental enough to make a legate's scales darken. I lied when I said I was done with you. If you're done with me, that's your business. It doesn't change how I feel.” He shrugged. “The door is open. You can step through it or not, but you can't force me to hatred or indifference. Your distance hurts. I'll leave it at that. Computer, open exam room two door.”  
   
“Am I free to go?” he asked, revealing nothing of the guilelessly spoken words' effect on him.  
   
“Not just yet,” Julian answered. “I'll be back in a moment. I need to load your hypospray.” He left the room, his footsteps retreating down the hallway to the medicine locker.  
   
He truly had no idea what to do when it came to this impossible man. Perhaps he should have been the one to consider the depth of commitment agreeing to that first tryst would entail. It was obviously far too late for that now. He had cultivated something with this insufferable human more persistent and pernicious than any weed, and yet like so many weeds, strangely beautiful in its own way.  _Sentiment will be the death of you yet,_  he thought.  
   
He submitted to the hypospray because he had no choice. Did he have any more choice when it came to Julian's devotion? He left the infirmary and returned to his cell, secretly touched by the confession and all the more determined to do right by the man. If he was very lucky, perhaps one day the doctor would understand that his avoidance was the most loving and selfless gift he could give him, and if he was luckier yet, Julian might one day forgive him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> The story spans events from “Apocalypse Rising” through "Looking for par'Mach in All the Wrong Places.” I'm trying to fast forward events a little because trying to write six months worth of time for Garak in a holding cell in great detail just would not work, and Doctor Bashir's part in all three of the episodes covered was fairly minimal. This appeared on LiveJournal on June 4, 2010.


End file.
